philophobia | ksj+mb

-11-

A café is a place closely associated with solitude and serenity, the exact opposite of my life. I rarely visit cafés to stay and to work, or to simply enjoy the tranquility of the space. Every time, I'd order a single coffee on takeaway and immediately leave in a hurry.

So when my caramel latte came to the table in front of me, the scene was abnormal to my eyes. I haven't seen or experienced that in nearly six years, since I left university. I remember when Yongsun and I would randomly visit cafés so that the both of us could talk without interruption. It felt like a long time, and it has been a long time.

I always imagined the first time in a café after all those years would be with Yongsun, Yoongi or Hoseok. Smiles filled our faces as nostalgia filled our heads. I never thought Jin would be the person across me, tragic memories of his past lingering in the air between us.

The world is unfair isn't it? When people wish for the smallest form of happiness, the universe gives them pain instead.

I sipped my latte, the smooth texture of the cup foreign to my lips and the warmness of the liquid burned my throat. Warm drinks were never my thing. I never have time to enjoy them.

Jin had his hands on the table, his blank eyes staring into the window. He wasn't moving, even when the waiter had placed his coffee on the table in front of him. Her head turned to him to search for approval from the frozen man, and left when she got nothing.

He didn't say anything after we left the cemetery. He had only uttered the question of stopping in a café before we went back and he stayed silent afterwards.

I looked around the quiet space, the stillness making me anxious, as if something was chasing me. There was nothing, of course. No deadlines, no events, nothing to write. But my brain wasn't acquainted with the atmosphere. It refused to acknowledge the peaceful moment.

The café was basic; sofas, brown and white interior and some green. Most of the tables were made of wood and the chairs were white. On the edges were sofas, with much lower tables and electric sockets on the walls.

"Thank you."

I turned to the man across from me at the sound of his voice. He still looked pained, but he was no longer staring at the distance. He was staring at me instead, a small smile tugging the edges of his lips, as if he's trying to manage a smile.

"For what?"

"For coming with me." He looked down onto his coffee, his hands closing around the warm cup, "Even if you didn't know anything."

I nodded, watched him sip his own coffee, producing a small slurping sound that stands out in the silence. My fingers were fiddling with each other, the peace and quiet still bothering me. I felt like I have to do something. I can't stare at the broken man while sipping coffee and enjoying the beautiful interior of the café.

"I was going to ask her to marry me," he said after long beats of silence. His voice was soft, but with the small amount of noise in the café, it was loud and clear in my ears.

I didn't want to tell him that I knew he was going to propose to her. He must've thought that I didn't know or knew minimally about both of them, because he didn't bother to ask me if I knew her.

"I'm sorry," I told him. He nodded, eyes leaving his coffee and back into the empty space somewhere on my right.

"She was always, always smiling." He had a wistful look on his face, his lips pursed into a painful smile and his eyes were watery with tears. His hands were still holding the cup of coffee, halfway empty and no longer emitting steam.

"She's beautiful," I said, trying to lighten the huge weight of emotions between us. I must've said the wrong thing because he lowered his gaze to the floor. The tears in the corners of his eyes desperate to fall to his smooth cheeks.

"She is." He blinked, the tears finally gliding across his cheeks and into the outlines of his jaw. "She is so beautiful."

He stared at me, with his eyes made of glass, breaking quietly in time. It shattered into pieces with the force of the pain he suffered because of losing her. Into tiny little pieces like dust that glisten and shine under the bright light of the sun.

It wasn't supposed to be beautiful—pain is never beautiful. It's ugly, dirty and hideous. It drives people into the endless dark pit of sorrow and grief. Pain never lets them climb back up, because it pulls them down, down, down. But as I stare into his broken eyes, I found that it can. It can be beautiful.

"You know what I regret?" he asked, his voice shaking with every word he spoke. I want to say no, because I know if he answers he'll break. But he answers anyway, "That I hesitated."

I opened my mouth, wanting to stop him—to tell him that he doesn't have to tell me. But no sound came out, because how could I? How could I stop him, knowing he wants to share and relieve everything. What kind of person would I be if I refused to hear everything so that he wouldn't break—all according to what I think.

"I hesitated in proposing," he continued on, now looking at the table. "I waited for days, Byul. I waited until the time was right, when everything is perfect when I could've asked then, at that moment. But no, I waited and waited until she's no longer here."

He let out a large sigh, another tear slipping past his cheeks. "She died in a car accident, but maybe you've known that.

"The worst part? We were fighting that day—nothing important, I couldn't even remember about what." He ran a hand through his hair, leaning to the back of his chair and staring at the ceiling. "I didn't even get to say sorry."

He looked at me again and this time I didn't look up to meet his eyes. I focused on my coffee, now cold from the time. His gaze stayed, lingering on my figure. He had a comforting smile on his face.

"But I guess, everything will be okay," he said. "Everything should be okay. I can't bring her back, right?"

I nodded, sipping on the last of my coffee, familiar with his situation. The dead will remain as memories in our hearts. And though they're precious, they're just memories. That's what hurts the most.

He looked around the café, eyes darting to the sofa, the tables, and to the windows. "It's nice here isn't it?"

I looked up to him, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I guess."

"Not a lot of people know about this place," he explained. "And I hope it stays that way. It's so calm."

I chuckled. Calm? Not in my dictionary.

Jin raised his eyebrows. I shook my head. "Nothing," I told him. "It's just so weird. I'm not used to it."

He gave me a small smile. "Right, the one who's always busy."

I rolled my eyes, but I can't disagree with him. I am always busy. Even during the days other people are resting, I'm busy.

"Thank you for listening to me," he said. "And for coming."

The ring of the bell on the door echoed throughout the room as someone entered. He walked with large steps, hands fidgeting with his phone as he spoke his order to the cashier. His breath heavy, as if he had been running. His eyes searched the screen of his phone after he finished ordering. He was so focused on the phone that he didn't register his surroundings. The employee had to call him trice before he looked up and took his drink, immediately heading out with larger strides.

"You look like that sometimes, you know," Jin said, a small smirk on his face though his eyes are still pained. "You should learn to enjoy life more."

I shrugged, "If only I could."

—❦—

i managed to write! in love with the word choices in this chapter.

thank you once more for all the votes, reads, comments! it means a lot!

till next wednesday
-w.